


If there’s no rest for the wicked, well, then we’ll never get no sleep

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Insomnia, Libraries, M/M, Touch-Starved, pining!jolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire meet at 2am in the university library. Enjolras is exhausted, and Grantaire can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Brick Walls" by Passenger.
> 
> Thank you to [Carol](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com) for betaing this and helping me come up with the plot! And for teaching me the word "sexiled."

Enjolras stumbles into the library at 12:30 a.m., silently thanking the universe that the place is open 24/7. He’s practically sleepwalking by this point, having been up since five this morning. He’s been kicked out of not one, but two apartments, including his own, and he just needs to find somewhere to rest. He stumbles towards the cluster of couches across the room, barely keeping his eyes open as he goes. When he reaches them, he flops down on the nearest one, falling asleep almost instantly.

Had he not been in such a zombified state, he might have noticed that the black-haired guy in the green hoodie, who was sitting at the row of computers near the circulation desk, was staring at him as he walked by.

***

Enjolras wakes up, far too soon, to someone tapping him on the shoulder.

He opens his eyes to find a girl with pink hair standing over him, eyes wide. She’s wearing a black polo shirt with the university’s logo stitched on it.

“Sorry to wake you up,” she says, “but I need to ask if you’re a student here.”

“Mhmm,” Enjolras mumbles.

“Can I see your ID card? Sorry.”

Enjolras digs out his wallet, fumbling with still-asleep fingers, and opens it to show her his ID through the plastic.

“Thank you,” the girl says, looking relieved. “You can go back to sleep now. I’m sorry I had to wake you up, but I had to check.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says, properly awake now. “The university lets students sleep here overnight? That’s surprisingly generous.”

“The university doesn’t,” the girl says, fiercer than before. “I do.”

Enjolras nods as she walks away. He approves of this girl.

He looks at his phone. It’s 2:02. He wonders why the girl didn’t wake him up earlier; perhaps she just likes to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, letting even people who aren’t students there at least take a nap. Enjolras likes her even more than before.

Unfortunately, though he didn’t get nearly enough sleep, Enjolras still has nowhere to go for another few hours. He knows he can’t sleep on the couch anymore; his legs are cramped already from the position he was lying in. He thinks he might walk to the all-night coffee shop that’s around the corner, just for something to do. It can be sketchy at night sometimes, but he didn’t bring his laptop or his reading glasses, so he’s got nothing to do here. He sits up and stretches, his clothes uncomfortably wrinkled now, and then gets up and heads back in the direction he came in from.

“If you’re on your way to work, you’re early. The sun isn’t set to come up for like another five hours, Apollo.”

Enjolras turns around. There’s someone – a very handsome someone, Enjolras isn’t too sleepy to notice – sitting at the computers who Enjolras vaguely remembers seeing on the way in.

The guy’s words are a little much for Enjolras’s sleep-deprived brain to handle, though. “Wha?” is all he manages in response.

The guy just laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “It might be a little late – or early – for the mythology jokes.”

Enjolras – maybe because he’s interested in the guy who he’s just now realizing compared him to a god, or maybe because he’s so tired that his body just needs to sit down somewhere – takes the chair next to him. He notices that the guy has Photoshop open on the computer, and is working on some kind of art project than Enjolras can’t make out without his glasses.

“Are you actually doing homework at this god-awful hour?” Enjolras asks him. Even Enjolras doesn’t work at two in the morning.

“It’s the only time I can do it,” the boy replies. “And what are you doing in the library at this ‘god-awful hour’ if not homework?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Enjolras replies honestly. “My roommate just, uh, started dating someone new—”

“Oh,” the guy interrupts. “You’re sexiled.”

“I’m not familiar with the term, but that sounds about right,” Enjolras answers. “And I was supposed to sleep at my friend Feuilly’s apartment instead, but he ended up having a date, too... so I’m here until the sun comes up.”

“Well, I don’t normally stay here that long, but at least you’ll have me for company for a while.”

“Why do you come here to do your homework in the middle of the night?” Enjolras asks, too weary to wonder if he’s being nosy.

“I have class in the afternoon, and I work during the evenings. At a coffee shop. Then I come here to do homework.”

“But why not just stay home and do your homework on your own computer? Wouldn’t that be more convenient?” Enjolras, for all his scholarly aptitude, doesn’t really care for working in the library. He prefers to work at his apartment, where it’s quieter and where there is always food.

“I don’t have a computer,” the guy replies. “I don’t have a cell phone, either. Not all of us can afford these luxuries, your Highness.”

Enjolras scrunches up his nose. “Sorry,” he says, internally bristling at being called your Highness. “That was presumptuous of me.”

“It’s alright,” the boy replies easily. “I could probably buy a laptop if I like, stopped eating for a few months, or something. But it wouldn’t be as good as these computers, anyway, so I might as well just work here. And I actually did used to have a cell phone, but I broke it, and I discovered it’s nice to not have to pay that bill every month, so I never got a new one.”

Enjolras has a lot of opinions about the state of student welfare in this country, and how the university charges so much tuition that some of its students are unable to maintain a living wage while paying it, and how student loan debts are out of control, but he can’t formulate his thoughts into anything coherent at the moment. That’s probably for the best.

“Besides,” the guy continues, bringing Enjolras back to the present. “I can’t sleep at night anyway, and being at my apartment just reminds me that I’m not sleeping. Here, at least I’m being productive. And meeting new and attractive people.”

“Is it a stress thing?” Enjolras asks, ignoring that last part.

“It’s a recovering alcoholic thing,” the guy answers, pulling a chip from his pocket. “Six months sober.”

“That’s impressive,” Enjolras says.

“It’s _depressing,_ is what it is. I want a drink every second, I feel like crap, and I sleep for like four hours a day.” It’s pretty heavy stuff, but the guy says it as casually as if he was reading a grocery list.

“You’re not very optimistic, are you?” Enjolras says. He puts his head in his arms on the desk, but turns so that he’s looking up at the boy. _His eyes are very blue,_ Enjolras notes, his own eyelids getting heavier by the second.

Green-hoodie-guy laughs. “No, I’m definitely not,” he says. “This is a very dark first conversation. But I find it’s always good to be up front about things. And, in my defense, I’m not used to talking to people here. I usually have the place pretty much to myself after midnight, minus Chetta at the desk.” Enjolras assumes he means the pink-haired girl who woke him, who is now sitting behind the front desk reading a comic book. “An easier topic, then. What’s your major?”

“Poli-sci,” Enjolras mumbles into his sleeve. “Is yours art?”

“Yes,” the guy confirms. “Not this, though,” he says, gesturing at the screen. “I mean, this is homework, but it’s for a digital art class that I’m required to take. This isn’t what I actually do. I’m a painter…”

Enjolras would love to hear this guy explain what kind of artwork he does, would love to watch him talk about anything, really, but his body chooses that moment to fall asleep.

***

When he wakes up, the early morning sun is shining through the windows, dawn just breaking over the city. Enjolras shoots up, confused about his surroundings, and looks all around. There’s no one there but a guy working the counter, the pink-haired girl having already gone home. The guy Enjolras was talking to must have left as well. Enjolras can’t help but feel an all-too-familiar pang of sadness in his stomach.

Then he sees the note on the desk.

**_Even though you fell asleep while I was literally right in the middle of a sentence, you were still very nice company. –R_ **

Enjolras rereads the note four times, clutching it tightly. Then he gets up and practically runs out of the library, quickly traveling the four blocks to his apartment and throwing himself into bed.

Thank goodness he doesn’t have class on Fridays. He’s going to need to catch up on a lot of sleep if he’s going to spend tonight in the library, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras gets to the library at ten on Friday night.

He slept until one in the afternoon after getting home, waking to three text messages from Combeferre asking if he was ever planning on getting out of bed. When he finally did get up, Combeferre apologized for the late notice about the night before, and promised that he and Courfeyrac would sleep at Courfeyrac’s apartment that night.

“No need,” Enjolras told him. “I’m going out again tonight.”

Combeferre had just looked confused and hadn’t asked why, and Enjolras wasn’t saying.

Sadly, the mysterious “R” hasn’t yet arrived by ten. Enjolras checks the entire main floor before settling down at the computers they had sat at yesterday. Chetta is working again tonight, and she gives him a knowing look when he sits down.

He knows there’s a chance that R won’t show up at all, but he’s giving himself the benefit of the doubt right now. Unlike last night, Enjolras has come prepared, bringing a USB stick with a paper he’s working on and his reading glasses. He settles in and gets to work, and pretends like he’s not looking over at the door every minute.

Soon, he gets engrossed in his work – typical Enjolras – and forgets to watch the doorway. He misses when R finally arrives just after eleven.

“You came back,” a voice says from behind Enjolras, far too close. Enjolras spins around to see who’s talking, and he can’t contain the smile on his face when he finds familiar black curls and blue eyes.

If he needed any reassurance about whether or not he should have come back to the library tonight, he finds it written all over the boy's face. He’s clearly pleased to see Enjolras, and Enjolras has to admit that he feels way too excited to be seeing someone he only met yesterday.

“What’s your name?” Enjolras says bluntly.

“Grantaire,” he says, a little taken aback by the question. “What’s yours?”

“That doesn’t start with R,” Enjolras says.

“’That doesn’t start with R’ is your name?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “My name is Enjolras,” he says. “But you signed your letter yesterday with R, and your name doesn’t start with R.” Enjolras reaches into his backpack and retrieves Grantaire’s letter from the day before as evidence. He realizes when he sees Grantaire’s eyes widen that that carrying the note around with him might be a weird thing to do.

Grantaire clucks his tongue at him. “You seemed smart yesterday. I think you can figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

Grantaire sighs. “It’s a pun. The R.” He puts on a French accent. “ _Grand R._ Get it?”

Enjolras scoffs. “How was I supposed to find you with one letter that isn’t even your initial?”

“I think you did okay,” Grantaire says, gesturing to himself to indicate that Enjolras has, in fact, found him, and Enjolras huffs again. “Man, is this what you’re like when you’re wide awake? I think I liked you better all sleepy and quiet yesterday.”

Enjolras is about to protest when Grantaire bends down to look in his backpack.

“Good, you brought your laptop,” Grantaire says. “I have to go get an actual book to read for class tonight, so we can work on the couches instead of here.” Enjolras is pleased that Grantaire isn’t questioning why he came back; he has just accepted that Enjolras is his company now. “Do you want to come upstairs and get the book with me?”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. He saves his work and packs up his stuff. Grantaire uses his computer to quickly look up the book’s call number before logging him out. It’s on the fifth floor, so they go to wait for the elevator.

“I like your glasses, by the way,” Grantaire says casually, staring at the elevator call button in front of him. Enjolras barely stutters out a thank you.

The sign bearing the elevator’s manufacturing information says that it can hold up to 21 people, but Enjolras is positive that there has never been so little space between him and another person. He’s on alert the entire time they ride it, feeling like the air is crackling with static between them. Grantaire is quiet, looking forward, either not noticing the cabin pressure or doing a very good job of hiding it. As soon as they exit, Enjolras finds he can breathe again, but he misses the electricity.

Grantaire leads them down the aisle, then into the right row. Enjolras asks to see the call number he has written down so he can help Grantaire look. Grantaire has a hand raised, counting through the numbers on the top shelf, when Enjolras spots the book. He reaches for it at the exact same time that Grantaire’s hand finds it.

The touch of their hands is brief, but it sends a shock rippling through Enjolras’s entire body. He pulls his hand away, too fast. Grantaire gives him an unreadable look before grabbing the book and flipping through it.

 _Fuck,_ Enjolras thinks. He’s given Grantaire the opposite message than what he meant to convey. He wants more touching, not less. Grantaire heads back to the elevator, and Enjolras follows, mentally kicking himself the entire time.

“What’s your book about?” Enjolras asks in the elevator, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Some dead Italian guys who painted a bunch of religious crap that I don’t care about,” Grantaire replies. “I would have thought by fourth year they might just let us paint in peace, finally, but no.”

“Right,” Enjolras says, remembering. “You were saying that you paint when I fell asleep.”

“I was,” Grantaire says, laughing. “You were so out of it. I’m surprised you remember.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras says. “How long did you stay?”

“Until just before four. I would have woken you, but you looked like you were in a deep sleep.”

“I was. I slept there until morning. And then I went home and slept until one so I could stay up tonight.” Enjolras hopes that admitting that might undo some of the damage done upstairs.

Grantaire just grins in lieu of a reply.

They make their way over to the comfortable-seating area, and Enjolras is happy when Grantaire chooses a couch instead of one of the armchairs so that he can sit down beside him. He pulls out his laptop while Grantaire opens his book to the right chapter.

They work in silence – this is a library, after all, even though they’re pretty much the only people in the place. With nothing to distract him except homework that he’s becoming increasingly bored of, Enjolras’s thoughts wander back to how he felt when Grantaire touched him.

He can’t remember ever feeling like that before, so _aware_ of Grantaire’s fingers grazing his skin, when someone had just touched his hand for such a small amount of time. But maybe the problem is that he can’t remember. No one has touched him, save for his friends, in such a long time…

He’s desperate to feel that way again. Trying – and probably failing – not to be obvious, he shifts in his seat, as though trying to get comfortable, and settles in back down so that his leg is pressing against Grantaire’s.

Grantaire doesn’t look up from his book – which is good, because Enjolras is sure his face is as red as a tomato – but he does shift his leg, too, so that he’s even closer to Enjolras’s.

They stay like that for hours, and even after Enjolras gets up to go to the washroom, they settle back into the same comfortable position. It’s not the same for Enjolras as it was skin on skin, but the change in intensity turns out to be a good thing; it calms him down instead of making him panic.

Despite his preparations, by the three in the morning, Enjolras is yawning, eager to get to sleep. Grantaire notices.

“Let’s go,” he says. “I should probably get home, too.” They pack up their things, walk to the door – Grantaire saying goodbye to Chetta on the way – and step out into the cold October air.

“I live this way,” Grantaire says, pointing.

“I live that way,” Enjolras says, pointing in the other direction.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything right away, so Enjolras, who is prone to impatience, speaks up.

“Will you be here tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll see you then,” he says briskly, very aware that he’s grinning like a complete idiot.

“Okay,” Grantaire says, smiling back.

“Okay,” says Enjolras, and then he turns and storms away before he says something stupid, like _I can’t wait to see you again_ or _I already really like you._


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks later, they’ve fallen into a routine.

Enjolras doesn’t go to the library every night; he has early classes on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, so he stays home Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday nights. The other four nights of the week, however, he spends with Grantaire at the library until three or four in the morning.

It’s not an easy routine to get used to, especially for Enjolras, who is used to rising early and then falling asleep on the couch during the evening news. But it’s worth every minute of the time he gets to spend with Grantaire. He regularly falls asleep on the couch in the library, but Grantaire always wakes him now, laughing at him for being a loud snorer, which Enjolras is positive Grantaire is making up.

He very reluctantly tells Combeferre and Courfeyrac what’s going on when they start asking him why he doesn’t come home half of the time. (Combeferre asking nicely, _I’m worried about you,_ Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, _You aren’t nearly as bitchy as usual lately and it’s scaring me_.) Enjolras tries to play it off at first, telling them he just prefers working there at night when it’s quiet, but he can’t keep from smiling as he says it, and the two of them see right through it. Enjolras is forced to tell them that, yes, he met someone, and yes, he likes him, and “shut up, both of you,” when they won’t stop giggling at him.

He doesn’t tell them about how he lies awake on his early nights wondering if Grantaire likes him, too. Sure, he’s complimented Enjolras’s appearance quite a few times, and he doesn’t object when Enjolras sits a little too close to him on the couch, but, well… it can be hard to tell with Grantaire sometimes.

***

Take tonight, for example. Their evenings together fall into three acts. The first act is arguing.

“But obviously what party is in government matters!” Enjolras is saying, far too loud for the library. He’s lucky it’s one in the morning and Chetta and a couple of campus security guards are the only other people there besides him and Grantaire. “Look at all of history! Look at the last ten years in just this country alone!” He’s sitting sideways on the couch, facing Grantaire, arms gesturing wildly. His and Grantaire’s… whatever this is has progressed from the meet-cute stage to a level of comfort that sometimes includes screaming at each other.

“Are you hungry?” Grantaire replies.

“What?!” Enjolras snaps, exasperated.

“Are. You. Hungry? I am, and I want some coffee. Not from Starbucks, from the good place on Elgin.”

“Grantaire, I’m in the middle of—”

“—yelling at me, yeah, I can tell. You can continue while we walk.” He stands up and tugs Enjolras’s sleeve to get him to come. Enjolras, still annoyed, gets up and joins him.

“Where’s your coat?” Grantaire asks, when Enjolras starts heading for the door in just his baseball tee.

“I didn’t bring one,” he replies. Enjolras had arrived before Grantaire that evening and was already settled on the couch when he came in, so Grantaire hadn’t noticed all he’d worn was his t-shirt.

“You didn’t bring a coat. In November. Why?” Grantaire is speaking to him like he’s a child, being purposely condescending to bother him, Enjolras knows, and it’s working.

“It wasn’t cold when I left,” Enjolras says, because _I am 21 years old but still forget to wear a coat even in the dead of winter unless Combeferre tells me to_ doesn’t sound as good.

“Well, it’s—” Grantaire takes Enjolras’s phone from his backpack, checking the weather app “— -1 outside now, which I’d say is pretty cold.” He puts the phone back then starts tugging at the hem of his sweater.

“Here,” he says, pulling off the black cable-knit he’s wearing – Enjolras averts his eyes, but it turns out Grantaire has a t-shirt on underneath it. “Put this on.”

Enjolras thinks it would probably help him save face if he protested, pretending that it wasn’t really that cold out, but there’s no way he’s passing up this opportunity. He throws the sweater over his head far too enthusiastically. It’s about three sizes too big for him but it’s very soft and it smells good, like Grantaire, and – _fuck, stop thinking about that._

Grantaire, for his part, is putting on the black jacket that he wore in, having come prepared. Enjolras gathers his things in his backpack, and they head for the door. Grantaire asks Chetta if she doesn’t mind if they leave their stuff behind the counter until they get back, and she obliges.

“Weren’t you yelling something at me?” Grantaire asks once they’re outside.

Enjolras had been too caught up in imagining what Grantaire would look like if he took the t-shirt off as well to remember.

“Right,” he says, a little shaky. “Uh, so, yeah, you can’t say that nothing ever changes when a new government takes power, just because there are other forces in play. I mean, I agree that voting isn’t the best way to change things, but we have to use every strategy possible. And we certainly have to participate in the democratic process as much as we can. If we didn’t have democracy, things would be the same way they were three hundred years ago.” By the end of his mini-rant, he has worked himself back into his usual fervour.

The argument had started when Enjolras told Grantaire about Les Amis, the student political group that Enjolras is in charge of, and their plans to get more students to vote in the upcoming federal election. However, like most arguments, it eventually devolved into a philosophical debate about democracy and freedom.

“Things are exactly the same as they were three hundred years ago, or three thousand years ago. We just have Bluetooth and shit now. People are still dying and starving and getting tortured.”

Enjolras sputters indignantly. “How can you even say that?! We’ve cured diseases, gained so many social rights…”

“…dropped nuclear bombs, destroyed the environment…” Grantaire continues.

And so on. Enjolras is still shouting about it when Grantaire interrupts to order their coffees. Enjolras hadn’t even realized they’d gone inside.

“A double espresso and a blueberry muffin,” Grantaire says, before turning to Enjolras.

“A large vanilla latte with whipped cream,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire bursts out laughing, stopping short when Enjolras shoots him a deadly glare. “I _dare_ you to start with me right now.” Grantaire shuts up, but he’s still smiling.

“It’s $7.60,” the guy behind the counter says. Enjolras reaches for his wallet, but Grantaire is faster, forking over a ten dollar bill that he had ready in his hand.

“Wait, you don’t have to—” Enjolras starts, but the guy has already given Grantaire his change and is starting on their drinks. Grantaire doesn’t say anything, just puts his change away.

They get their drinks and food and head back outside. Enjolras puts his hand on Grantaire’s arm to stop him walking.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

“What? Bought your coffee?” Enjolras nods.

“Why? Because you have more money than me, or because we were fighting?”

“Well… both,” Enjolras admits, prickling at Grantaire’s characteristic bluntness.

Grantaire laughs dryly. “Enjolras, I’m not that poor that I can’t spend three dollars buying you a drink. And just because we argue doesn’t mean I hate you or something. I love arguing with you.”

“What?!” Enjolras squawks.

“Can’t you tell? I start fights with you all the time.”

“Why!?”

“Because it’s fun!” Grantaire says plainly, laughter on his voice. “I hope you’re not mad. You’re really smart, if way too idealistic, and I like a challenge. And you look so cute when you’re yelling.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to say… something, but he’s feeling too many emotions at once. He shuts his mouth awkwardly, then turns to walk back to the library, Grantaire having to jog a little to keep up with him.

The walk’s a little long, and since Enjolras isn’t talking this time, it seems longer than it had before. Enjolras’s free hand is getting cold. He wraps it around his coffee with the other, but it’s not enough. He brings it to his mouth to blow hot air on it.

“Just – here,” Grantaire says, reaching over and grabbing Enjolras’s hand and stuffing it into his coat pocket with his own. Enjolras feels a familiar shock at being touched, but he sees Grantaire coming this time, and he doesn’t pull away. He lets Grantaire rubs warmth back into his fingers with his thumb, and manages to keep from losing his mind at the feeling of it.

Enjolras would have gladly sat out in the cold all night if Grantaire only kept holding his hand, but too soon, they’re back at the library, and Enjolras doesn’t want to weird Grantaire out, so he pulls his hand back gently.

This is where they enter act two: comfortable, companionable silence.

It’s a little less comfortable than usual, because Enjolras is jittery from the arguing and the hand-holding and the coffee. But even if his concentration isn’t up to standard tonight, this is maybe Enjolras’s favourite part of their time together.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac and the rest of Enjolras’s friends are great company, but even when they’re all together at Les Amis’ meetings, Enjolras still sometimes feels… lonely. The feeling has only gotten worse since Combeferre and Courfeyrac got together, despite their best efforts to keep him feeling included. He knows that all of his friends love him, but since two thirds of his trio became a couple, he’s no one’s first priority.

He knows that sounds petty, and that our hearts are not filled with a limited amount of love to be rationed out to the deserving, et cetera et cetera. But still. When he and Grantaire are working separately, not even talking, they’re still substantially, palpably _together_. And it’s nice. Being here with Grantaire, with Grantaire never once questioning how Enjolras has infiltrated his life, makes Enjolras feel wanted. Is that so much to ask?

Plus, Enjolras gets to spend some of this time ruminating on how much _he_ wants Grantaire, which is both obsessing and torturous. Grantaire – Enjolras hopes – doesn’t notice when he spends entire ten-minute spans just watching Grantaire work, writing litanies in his mind about the precise colour of Grantaire’s eyes or fixating on the way he scans book pages with his finger while he reads, imagining Grantaire’s hands all over him. The first time Grantaire pulled out a sketchbook and started to draw, and Enjolras though he was going to drop dead right on the spot.

And then, around two-thirty in the morning, they reach act three.

There’s something about the night that breaks our walls down and bring our hearts out. The distance we keep others at, during the day, can be crossed easily under the stars. Jokes are funnier, poorly-laid plans seem possible, and declarations of the soul seem easy when we’re too tired to remember that we’re supposed to push people away.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Enjolras says, his head just inches from Grantaire’s shoulder.

“You can ask,” Grantaire says, his hand still moving over his sketchbook. “I don’t know if I’ll answer.”

“Why did you stop drinking? You don’t have to tell me why you started. I was just wondering what made you stop.”

Grantaire stills, his breath pausing for a beat. “I can’t answer that,” he says. “I mean, I can, but I don’t want to. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Enjolras says.

“I mean… the reason why I stopped is actually more personal than the reason I started. I could tell you that, if you wanted?”

“Okay,” Enjolras says again, choosing that moment to close the distance between himself and Grantaire, resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire doesn’t pull away, so Enjolras hopes it’s okay. He’s still wearing Grantaire’s sweater from earlier, and the feeling of Grantaire all around him is so comfortable.

“It was just the usual mix of things that drive people to drink: depression, an addictive personality, alcoholism running in the family, not enough money for proper therapy… a cocktail of shitty circumstances, really.”

Enjolras just hums into Grantaire’s shoulder, unsure of what to say.

“And it’s not like any of those things went away,” Grantaire continues. Enjolras isn’t sure if he’s still addressing him or not. “But I made a choice. That’s what counts. I mean, the system is fucked and everything, but still… I chose to be different than I was.”

“Sorry to get all emo on you,” Grantaire says, laughing lightly, but Enjolras can tell it’s half-faked. “But you did ask.”

“I know,” Enjolras says, turning his head so he’s looking at Grantaire’s face. “I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you.” Enjolras will regret saying that in the morning, but right now, it slips easily from his lips.

Grantaire smiles, and nudges Enjolras’s head with his own. “I want to know about you, too. Starting with: what is your favourite vegetable?”

Enjolras laughs then, rolling his eyes. “Do you really want to know? You know how I get. I have a very strong opinion about everything, and this is no different.”

Grantaire snorts. “Of course you do. Well, then, don’t hold out on me. Let’s hear it.”

***

 _So, does Grantaire like me?_ Enjolras wonders again as he’s five-minutes deep into a speech about the versatility of potatoes, with Grantaire hanging on every word.

He thinks he has his answer.

His next question is: _what do I do about it?_


	4. Chapter 4

On Monday night, Enjolras is already dressed for bed at 11 p.m. when he gets the email from his professor. Five minutes later, he’s out the door, swinging his backpack over his shoulders.

Grantaire is sitting at the computers when he comes in, and he starts laughing the second he sees Enjolras rushing into the library, making him glance down at himself self-consciously, wondering if he forgot to put on shoes or something.

“I have so many things I want to ask right now,” Grantaire says, still laughing. “But I will start with: why are you here on a Monday night?”

“My class tomorrow got cancelled,” Enjolras says happily. “My prof has the flu!”

“Don’t be too sympathetic or anything,” Grantaire says sarcastically. “Second question: why do you look like you just climbed a mountain?”

Enjolras is, in fact, still trying to catch his breath. “I kind of ran here,” he says. “I was excited.” He doesn’t add the _to see you_ part.

Grantaire grins. “Okay, fair enough. Now, my last question, and truly the most important one: since when do you wear sweatpants?!” He bursts into a fit of giggles.

Now Enjolras sees why Grantaire was laughing at him. He hadn’t bothered changing before leaving the apartment. He would normally never wear the oversized grey track pants he has on outside.

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, blushing. “They’re my pajamas. And they’re not even mine; they were my roommate’s.”

_Is that a flash of jealously Enjolras sees on Grantaire’s face?_

If it is, Grantaire recovers from it quickly. “Well, you still look hot even when you’re dressed poorly,” Grantaire says easily. Enjolras almost chokes on air. “Are you staying?”

“Yes,” Enjolras replies. “But I have a favour to ask. Do you need the computer for homework tonight?”

“Yeah, I do,” Grantaire says, gesturing at the screen, where Microsoft Word is open, showing a full page of text. “I have to finish this stupid response paper for Cultural Studies.”

Enjolras shrugs off his backpack and pulls out his own computer. “Can you work on my laptop so we can sit on the couch?”

Grantaire nods. “I think I can do that,” he says. “I’ll just email it to myself.”

“No need,” Enjolras says, producing a flash drive from the front pocket of his bag and handing it over. He had come prepared to get Grantaire to sit with him by any means necessary.

They wander over to the couches. “Not that I mind, but why are you making me move?” Grantaire asks, settling down.

Enjolras flops down beside him. “Because I wasn’t expecting to come here tonight,” he says, resting his head back on the top of the couch and shutting his eyes, “and I’m probably going to fall asleep like right now.” Even just closing his eyes, he can already feel sleep pulling him under. He had gotten up at six that morning, and it was now his non-library-night bedtime.

“Why did you come here then, if you’re so tired?” Grantaire asks softly.

Enjolras exhales quietly. “Because I wanted to be with you, even if I’m sleeping,” he says. He’s done with keeping his feelings locked up and he just wants Grantaire to _know_ now, for better or for worse.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything back, just reaches out and pokes Enjolras in the arm. And then Enjolras falls asleep.

***

“Enjolras, wake up, man” says a voice in Enjolras’s ear. He slides back into consciousness, aware that he has his arms wrapped around something very soft.

“Mmmmf,” mumbles into whatever it is he’s holding onto. The thing moves a little.

 _Oh shit._ What he’s holding is Grantaire. Enjolras opens his eyes, frozen in that position. His head is on Grantaire’s chest, and he has to look up to see him.

“I kind of need my arm for typing,” Grantaire says. He doesn’t look angry, but that doesn’t stop Enjolras from being mortified.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, pulling away quickly, but Grantaire grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him back.

“You don’t have to go that far,” he says quietly, his gaze intense. “If you don’t want to, I mean.”

As a response, Enjolras snuggles back into Grantaire’s shoulder, properly this time, and goes back to sleep.

***

Enjolras wakes of his own volition the next time. Grantaire is comfortable, but the couch is not, especially when he’s sitting up.

“What time is it?” Enjolras asks.

“Almost two,” Grantaire says. He’s playing Solitaire on the screen, Enjolras notices. “I finished my work like half an hour ago, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras says. He blinks a few times; despite the late hour, he’s quite awake now that he’s taken a two-hour nap. His mouth feels dry, so he pulls a stick of gum from his bag.

He stretches out his limbs, trying not to whack Grantaire in the face with his arm as he does. “This couch is the least comfortable bed in the world,” he says. “My legs are all cramped.”

“Want to go for a walk?” Grantaire asks.

“It’s cold out.”

“We don’t have to go outside,” Grantaire says. “Let’s just wander around in here; it’s not like we’d be distracting anyone.” He gestures around at the rest of the library, which is completely empty except for Chetta, who has a headphone in one ear and is bobbing her head along to music.

“Okay,” Enjolras agrees. They ask Chetta to watch their stuff at the desk again; she gives them a strange look when they tell her they just want to walk around, but she doesn’t ask questions. They leave her and wait to take the elevator to the fifth floor, figuring that they’ll work their way down. Enjolras throws his gum in the garbage while they wait.

Enjolras spends one full second thinking that this elevator ride is not nearly as nerve-wracking as the last one before Grantaire reaches over and grabs his hand.

They walk around the main aisles top floor, hand in hand, for a few minutes – finding the place completely deserted – before beginning their tour of the rows.

They’re make it through three rows before Grantaire stops them, then turns to face Enjolras, taking his other hand. Enjolras has his mouth half-open to ask what’s going on when Grantaire kisses him.

It seems like Grantaire meant for it to be a soft, chaste kiss, but with Enjolras’s lips already parted, it intensifies quickly. How Enjolras manages to kiss back in such a state of shock he has no idea, but he thinks he does okay. Then Grantaire’s tongue is in his mouth and his hands are on his waist and _Enjolras is losing his mind._

It’s Enjolras’s first kiss in years, and for some reason, he’s more nervous about this one than any that preceded it. His hands are shaking when he moves them to the back of Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire lets the softest moan escape into Enjolras’s mouth, and Enjolras’s head starts spinning. On the outside, he must appear calm, as he slides his tongue over Grantaire’s bottom lip, but inside he’s thoroughly freaking out.

 _It’s too much,_ he thinks frantically, but it’s also not enough. It feels so good that it’s scaring him. Grantaire’s hands are travelling now, up his back and down his chest, and Enjolras is cracking apart like ice in every new spot Grantaire touches. He thinks Grantaire is going to break him into pieces. He tries to return the favour – he wants nothing more than to touch Grantaire, too, to put his hands all over him – but his ears are ringing and he can’t focus.

Then Grantaire slides a hand down the front of his pants, and Enjolras is pushing away.

“Stop,” he breathes, sucking in air. “Sorry, I’m sorry—”

Grantaire steps back immediately, holding his hands in the air. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, though he looks crushed.

Enjolras puts his hands on his knees and bends over, trying to breathe and trying to get his erection, which is painfully obvious given the pants he has on, to go away quickly. “I’m sorry,” he says again, “it wasn’t your fault. I just freaked out.”

“Stop apologizing,” Grantaire says, a slight edge in his voice. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have done any of that.”

At that, Enjolras snaps back upright and grabs Grantaire’s hand. That, at least, he can handle.

“Yes, you should have,” he says fiercely to Grantaire. “I’m glad you kissed me. I wanted you to kiss me, and touch me. I just… it was moving so fast, and I panicked.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says again. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable. That was the complete opposite of what I meant to do.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “And the next time you touch me… there, you won’t. Uh…” he trails off, then, embarrassed. “That is, if you ever want to do this again.”

“I do,” Grantaire says fervently. “I really do. If you want.”

“I do want,” Enjolras echoes. “Is it okay if we take it slow?”

Grantaire smiles, clearly relieved that Enjolras isn’t rejecting him. “Slow is perfect.”

They continue their walk around the library, making their way downstairs. It’s a little awkward at first; Grantaire seems like he’s afraid he’s going to break Enjolras just by talking to him. Enjolras keeps a tight hold on his hand, though, refusing to let go. He needs Grantaire to know that he wants him.

Chetta gives them a knowing look when they retrieve their stuff from her. It’s past three now; they decide to call it a night.

They stand outside in the cold air, Grantaire looking anywhere but at Enjolras’s face. Enjolras reaches out tentatively and cups Grantaire’s cheek, turning him back to face him. When Grantaire doesn’t pull away, Enjolras leans in and gives him a short, shaky kiss.

“Tomorrow?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods. “Tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras unfortunately is not alone when he comes to the library the next night.

“Which one is he?!” Courfeyrac is whispering way too loudly as they’re walking through the first set of doors.

“Shut up!” Enjolras whispers back. “You can’t even see anyone yet.”

“I’m just so excited!”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, rounding on him. “You really need to calm down. You’re lucky I even let you come—”

“You don’t control who gets to go to the library, Enj,” Courfeyrac says, rolling his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras hisses. “Please, Courfeyrac, can you just not be like this tonight?”

“Like what?”

“Like _you._ With all the teasing and innuendos and stuff. I can’t take it right now.”

Courfeyrac just looks at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry,” Enjolras says finally. “I know that was mean.” Courfeyrac doesn’t look convinced. _“Sorry,”_ Enjolras says, more emphatically. “I’m just really nervous, okay? Please don’t make it worse.”

“Fine,” Courfeyrac replies. “But you have to give me a hug because you were mean.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and gives Courfeyrac a one-armed hug, shaking Courfeyrac off when he tries to turn it into a proper one. They walk through the second set of doors.

“Musichetta?” Courfeyrac says as soon as they walk in.

Chetta looks up. “Hi, Courf! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“You two know each other?”

“She used to date my cousin,” Courfeyrac explains, walking over to the counter. Enjolras is actually more surprised that Chetta has a full name than he is that Courfeyrac knows her – Courfeyrac knows _everyone_. “Hey, Chetta, are you single now? Because I might know some people you’d like.”

“People?!” Enjolras hears Musichetta reply. He’s glad Courfeyrac has found someone else to talk to because it gives him a chance to find Grantaire first. He sees him sitting with his back to the door on one of the couches and walks over, leaving Courfeyrac to catch up when he’s done talking, which could be hours from now, knowing him.

“Hi,” Enjolras says as he sits down beside Grantaire. Grantaire looks over, surprised, and smiles.

“My friend – the one my roommate is dating – insisted on coming to meet you. I tried to tell him not to because I didn’t want him to make you uncomfortable or anything but he really doesn’t listen. So he’s here and he’s talking to Musichetta at the desk right now. He’s only going to stay for a little bit. Is that okay?” Enjolras takes a deep breath.

Grantaire just laughs. “Of course it’s okay. What, did you think I would be mad or something?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says, secretly thrilled that Grantaire has no qualms about meeting his friends. Him meeting Courfeyrac, and eventually Combeferre, is practically like him meeting Enjolras’s family. They’re certainly more important to him than his family.

Courfeyrac has left Chetta and is walking over to them now. Enjolras reaches out and squeezes Grantaire’s hand quickly. Courfeyrac sits down across from them, and Enjolras introduces them, Grantaire reaching out to shake Courfeyrac’s hand.

It goes well; Courfeyrac is the easiest person in the world to talk to, and Grantaire isn’t bad with conversation either. Despite his propensity for speech-making, Enjolras is terrible at making small talk, so he doesn’t participate very much, but the two of them get along fine without his contributions. Enjolras leaves to go to the washroom, and when he gets back, it’s like the two of them barely noticed he was gone.

Courfeyrac leaves twenty minutes later, and Enjolras and Grantaire get down to their regular routine.

It’s strange, though, because they shouldn’t be getting back to their regular routine. They should be starting a new routine, one that involves hand-holding and maybe kissing and _definitely_ talking about what is going on between them. But as soon as Courfeyrac is gone, Grantaire opens his homework without saying anything.

It goes on like this all night. Enjolras finally gets the courage to take Grantaire’s hand, and Grantaire accepts, but he doesn’t look up. Enjolras tries to start conversation, tries to start a fight even, but Grantaire’s answers are short and cursory. By the time they kiss goodnight, Grantaire’s heart doesn’t seem to be in it, and Enjolras can’t bring himself to ask why. He’s not sure he could handle the response.

The next day, he tracks Courfeyrac down outside his afternoon class.

“What did you say to him?” Enjolras says sharply, without preamble.

“What?”

“Grantaire was acting weird all night, starting from when I got back from the bathroom. So what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Courfeyrac says. “I… okay, maybe something. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Courfeyrac, you better tell me right—”

“Okay, okay,” Courfeyrac says. “When you left, I might have said something along the lines of ‘it’s great to finally meet you, Enjolras never stops talking about you, I think he really likes you, blah blah blah.’”

“Oh, Courf, what the _fuck_?! That’s not even true; I never mention him unless you make me!”

“It would be true if you actually talked about your life to your best friend like a normal person!”

“And you wonder why I don’t!” Enjolras throws his hands up in the air. People around them are starting to stare, but Enjolras is almost done anyway. “It doesn’t matter now. The damage has already been done, and I’m pretty sure you scared him away by telling him that. So thank you.”

Enjolras storms away before Courfeyrac can say anything.

At the apartment, Enjolras paces around his room. When Combeferre comes in to ask what’s wrong, all Enjolras says is _don’t invite Courfeyrac over here for a while._ Combeferre doesn’t ask; he knows better than to prod Enjolras when he’s angry.

Enjolras wants so badly to go to the library tonight and try to repair the damage, but he has a test in his first class tomorrow. Besides, going there on an off night is only going to scare Grantaire away further.

So he waits until Thursday night, through two classes and a Les Amis meeting, and then a few hours more of pacing before setting off for the library at his usual time.

Grantaire isn’t there yet, and Enjolras just _knows_ right away that he’s not coming. He’s almost always there before Enjolras shows up, and after Tuesday…

Enjolras waits until two in the morning, just in case. Grantaire never comes.

“Was he here yesterday?” Enjolras asks Musichetta out of the blue.

“Yes,” she says, knowing it’s the wrong answer.

Enjolras goes back the next night, and waits until three this time. No Grantaire. Enjolras wonders vaguely how he’s getting his homework done.

He can’t bring himself to keep going back to the library after that. He thinks about maybe going to Grantaire’s work, or trying to find him at school, but what’s the point? Grantaire has made his position extremely clear.

Enjolras holes himself up in his room instead, giving Combeferre the briefest possible version of what happened through the door when he asks, because he can’t bear to see the look of pity on his face.

On Sunday morning, Enjolras comes out of hibernation for coffee just as Courfeyrac is letting himself into the apartment.

“Sorry,” Courfeyrac says, taking in Combeferre’s obviously-empty room and Enjolras standing there alone. “I thought Ferre was here. I wouldn’t have come in otherwise; he told me you didn’t want to see me.”

“He got called into work,” Enjolras says, only addressing half of Courfeyrac’s statement.

Courfeyrac stays standing awkwardly in the doorway. “I guess I’ll go,” he says, turning.

“You can stay,” Enjolras says, gesturing to the couch. “Do you want coffee?”

Courfeyrac nods, and moves quickly over to the couch.

Enjolras brings two mugs over and settles down beside him, putting the mugs on the side table. They both drink their coffee the same way – with more milk and sugar in it than actual coffee – so it doesn’t matter whose mug is whose.

Enjolras thinks for a moment about how he might go about this. “Close your eyes,” Enjolras says finally. Courfeyrac looks confused for a moment, but he does it.

Enjolras pulls him into a hug, a real one, not letting go for a long time. When he finally pulls back, Courfeyrac is smiling wide.

“You’re not mad at me anymore?”

“No,” Enjolras says. “And more than that, I owe you an apology. A big one. I’m really sorry I’ve been such a jerk to you lately. I was taking out how upset I was about Grantaire on you, and that wasn’t fair.”

“It’s okay—” Courfeyrac starts to say, but Enjolras interrupts him.

“No, it’s not okay,” Enjolras says. “It’s not okay for me to be mean to you, and I’m not going to do it anymore. So you can accept my apology, but don’t say it was okay.”

“Fine,” Courfeyrac says, but he’s laughing now. “I accept your apology. You are a horrible person. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, satisfied. “Now we can go back to normal.”

“Good,” Courfeyrac says. “So now can I say that I’m really sorry that things didn’t work out with Grantaire? It really seemed like things were going well with you for a while.”

“Things barely got started to begin with,” Enjolras says, though it’s a complete under-exaggeration. “It’s better to know now that he was going to get scared off rather than later, right?”

“Right,” Courfeyrac agrees. Enjolras must look sad, because Courfeyrac hugs him again. Enjolras just lets him this time; he needs all the affection he can get.

“I’m supposed to meet Ferre for lunch,” Courfeyrac says. “I just thought he meant here, not at his work. But I can come back here after? And when Ferre gets off work we can all hang out?”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, walking Courfeyrac to the door.

“You’ll be okay, Enj,” Courfeyrac says before he leaves. “You always are.”

 _Because of you and Combeferre I am,_ Enjolras thinks. “Thank you, Courf,” he says.

***

Enjolras makes it most of the way through the week with only one hitch. He has to go to the library to get a book for class, and it feels horrible just walking through the doors. The place looks wrong in the daylight, even though that was how Enjolras was used to seeing it for three and a half years before he met Grantaire. He knows Grantaire will be at work at that time, but Enjolras can’t help himself from looking for him over at the computers by the desk.

He’s quieter than usual in his classes, but more invested in his work for Les Amis. At the meeting the following Thursday, he’s louder and fiercer than ever. It’s probably a good thing, since there are some new faces that he doesn’t recognize hanging around the back of the room. Hopefully Enjolras has impressed them enough that they’ll keep coming back.

Enjolras is incredibly glad that he’s finishing the last item on the agenda when he notices that one of the faces hiding in the back looks very familiar, with black curls and blue eyes and, for some reason, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Enjolras barely sputters through his last sentences before tossing the papers he’s holding at Combeferre and moving through the crowd to the back of the room.

“What are you doing here?” is all Enjolras can think to say when he gets close enough for Grantaire to hear him.

Grantaire holds out the flowers to Enjolras. “Can we talk?”


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras and Grantaire walk to Enjolras’s apartment in silence.

Well, almost silence – “What are these?” “They’re flowers, Enjolras.” “Why?” “They’re a gift.” Enjolras scowls. “I would have preferred chocolates.”

After Grantaire had asked him if they could talk, Enjolras had gone to Combeferre, who was talking to some of the new members, to ask if he could go back to Courfeyrac’s place for a while instead of coming home. Combeferre had agreed.

Now, the two of them are walking into Enjolras’s apartment, Enjolras flipping on the light then rounding on Grantaire.

“What do you want to talk about?” His voice comes out sharper than he intended, but maybe that’s a good thing. Grantaire should know that he hurt him.

Grantaire looks down at his feet. “You stopped coming to the library.”

Enjolras is at a loss.

“ _I_ stopped coming?!” he says incredulously. “You stopped coming!”

“Not forever,” Grantaire says. “Only for two nights, because something came up. And I had no way to reach you to let you know.”

Enjolras considers this. “I stopped going after two nights of you not showing up,” he says.

“I promise I had a good reason,” Grantaire says. “My roommate, her brother still lives at home with their parents, and they’re pretty messed up. He comes and stays with her sometimes when it’s dangerous to be at home. And he came for those two nights, but she had to work really late at the bar, so I stayed at the apartment with him.”

Enjolras nods slowly. “That is a good reason,” he acknowledges.

“I would have let you know, if I could have,” Grantaire says. Enjolras nods again.

But there’s still something bothering Enjolras. “It’s not just that, though” he says finally. “Courfeyrac told me what he said to you, about me really liking you.” Enjolras grits his teeth; it’s not easy for him to say this. “And then you were… you were acting like you didn’t want me anymore after you heard that. Like you didn’t feel the same way.”

Grantaire exhales loudly. It’s clear that he knew this topic was going to come up. “That’s not what that was,” he says. “When Courfeyrac told me that, it did scare me, which was why I was acting differently. But it didn’t scare me because I don’t feel the same way. It scared me because… well, I’m not used to anyone ‘really liking me.’ I was worried that, I don’t know, you would change your mind, or something…”

Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s eyes on him, but he keeps his head down, fiddling with the petals on the flowers.

“…which you probably have at this point,” Grantaire finishes. “I’m sorry. I know I screwed things up.”

Enjolras just keeps picking at the flowers.

“Do you want me to go?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras sighs. “No,” he says, finally looking up and putting the flowers down. “Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says indifferently, before going to sit on the couch. Grantaire follows him, taking off his coat and hanging it by the door, looking unsure of himself in these unfamiliar surroundings.

“Nice apartment,” Grantaire says pointlessly.

“So do you want me or not?” Enjolras demands out of nowhere. He’s spent the entire last week thinking that Grantaire was done with him, but now... “Because I want you. I think I’ve made that abundantly clear by spending all my free time with you since we met.”

Grantaire just stares for a moment. “Enjolras,” he finally says, his voice raspy, “ _Of course_ I want you. I have wanted you since you walked into the library for the first time. How could I not?”

Enjolras looks down at his hands, smiling. Then he shoots up, launching himself at Grantaire and kissing him.

Grantaire hesitates beneath him, then opens his arms and pulls Enjolras close. They slide down on the couch as they kiss, Enjolras falling on top of Grantaire. He’s hyper-aware of every part of his body that’s pressed up against Grantaire. Grantaire is being careful with his hands this time, so Enjolras grabs them and places them on his hips to show that it’s okay for Grantaire to touch him.

 _It would be nice to stay like this for hours,_ Enjolras thinks, _and just kiss._ But not today. Not after he’s just gotten Grantaire back. Not with the heat that he can feel pooling in his stomach.

“Want to go to my room?” Enjolras mumbles against Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire smiles and nods, and Enjolras can see how red his lips are from the kiss.

Enjolras breaks away from Grantaire just long enough to send a text to Combeferre – _DO NOT COME HOME_ – and then he takes Grantaire’s hand and leads him into the bedroom.

“Can I ask you something?” Grantaire says once they’re lying face to face on the bed, their shoes kicked off on the floor.

“Sure.”

“Does being touched make you uncomfortable?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “No.”

“Does _me_ touching you make you uncomfortable?”

“Definitely not.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me if it does, I promise it won’t change anything—”

“No, Grantaire, it’s not that,” Enjolras interrupts. “I mean, thank you, it’s really good to hear that you would still want me without the physical stuff, but that’s not why I kept freaking out when you touched me. I was panicking because it felt so _good_ that I didn’t know what to do. I haven’t really… I haven’t had sex in almost three years and I just forgot how good it felt to be touched.”

He doesn’t add that he’s pretty sure it never felt that good before Grantaire. Or that the reason he made Grantaire stop in the library was because he thought he was going to come right then just from Grantaire touching him over his pants.

Grantaire looks like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “You seem surprised,” Enjolras says.

“I guess I am, a little bit,” Grantaire admits. “I mean… look at you.”

“What?”

Grantaire snorts. “Enjolras, you know you’re gorgeous, right? You’re like the hottest person I’ve ever seen in real life.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says awkwardly, hiding his face in his hands. He has been told, of course, that he is good-looking, but it’s one thing to hear it, and another to internalize it.

What he really wants is to tell Grantaire just how attractive he finds him, but he knows it will seem disingenuous if he says it now. He’ll find a way to let him know later.

“Does it bother you?” Enjolras says, still through his hands. “That I haven’t done it in so long?”

Grantaire smirks, and rolls so that he’s on top of Enjolras. “Not at all,” he says, trailing kisses down Enjolras’s neck.

“Good,” Enjolras whispers. “Because I want you now.”

Grantaire groans then, and grinds his hips down against Enjolras’s. Enjolras is pleased to find that Grantaire is just as hard as he is.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Grantaire asks between kisses. Enjolras whines out a ‘yes, _please_ ,’ and within minutes both of them are down to their boxers.

Grantaire takes his time, making a point to remind Enjolras of every nerve ending, every ticklish or sensitive piece of skin, using his mouth or his fingers or both. By the time he pulls off both of their boxers and takes Enjolras’s cock in hand, Enjolras is panting and writhing underneath him.

“Do you have lube and condoms?” Grantaire asks matter-of-factly, still stroking him.

“Yes, ah—” Enjolras can’t seem to remember how words work. “In the drawer.” He points to the nightstand.

Grantaire, thankfully, reaches over and grabs them, because Enjolras’s limbs are feeling a little too shaky. Grantaire’s cock rubs up against Enjolras’s thigh when he moves, and Enjolras thinks he might faint. Grantaire tears the packages open.

“You should roll over,” Grantaire says from between Enjolras’s thighs. “It’ll hurt more this way.”

“I don’t care,” Enjolras says. “I want to see your face.”

Grantaire responds by hiking Enjolras’s legs up and pressing a kiss onto the inside of his knee.

“You ready?” Grantaire asks, once he’s lubed up his fingers.

“Yes,” Enjolras answers, pushing himself closer to Grantaire to prove his point.

Grantaire’s finger is cool as it enters him, and Enjolras feels the stretch that comes with not having done this in so long. The pleasure outweighs the pain, though, and before long Enjolras is fucking back onto Grantaire’s finger, begging for more. Grantaire adds a second, than a third when Enjolras is ready. And then he’s rolling on a condom and lubing himself up and pressing himself slowly into Enjolras and—

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Enjolras yells – really yells, thank god the apartment’s walls are thick – when Grantaire enters him.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asks immediately.

“ _Yes,_ I’m okay, you feel fucking incredible,” Enjolras breathes out. “ _Move.”_

Grantaire obeys, moving slowly at first, then speeding up when Enjolras starts digging his nails into Grantaire’s shoulders.

Grantaire leans over to whisper in Enjolras’s ear. “Does that feel good?” He’s teasing now, his lips curled into a smirk as he pulls back and continues thrusting into Enjolras.

“Yes, it feels good, it feels amazing,” Enjolras babbles. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect, Grantaire—ah!” Enjolras breaks off as Grantaire rams his prostate. “Fuck, please touch me, Grantaire, I need it—”

Grantaire reaches a hand down to stroke Enjolras’s cock, and it only takes four strokes before Enjolras is coming, repeating Grantaire’s name over and over as his spills over his stomach and Grantaire’s hand. His face must be a sight to see, because Grantaire’s eyes widen as Enjolras comes, and then he’s shuddering and shaking between Enjolras’s legs, fucking into him as he finishes.

Grantaire collapses against Enjolras’s chest, and they stay together like that for a minute of two. Then Grantaire pulls out to remove the condom, Enjolras grabbing an old t-shirt from the dresser to wipe them off with. Once they’re clean, they slip under the covers, Grantaire pulling Enjolras in for a long, lazy kiss.

“So was that okay?” Grantaire asks. “Was it a good enough first time after three years?”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Enjolras says bluntly. “Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it was with you.” At that, Grantaire buries his head in Enjolras’s chest, unable to contain his grin.

***

“My doctor said that I wasn’t going to live past forty,” Grantaire says out of the blue, as they’re cuddled together in the bed.

“What?!” Enjolras is already working himself into a panic.

“You asked me, a while ago, why I quit drinking,” Grantaire explains. “That was why. I went to the doctor for a check-up, and that was what he told me. That alcohol was ruining my body and that I would be lucky if I lived another twenty years. And I was horribly depressed, and I felt like shit all of the time, but I just… even with all of that, I didn’t want to die. So I quit.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says softly.

“It wasn’t as easy as I just made it sound,” Grantaire says, laughing lightly. “It was really hard, and it’s still really hard every day. But I know that I want to live.”

Enjolras cuddles closer to him, if that’s even possible. “I’m really glad,” Enjolras says. “Because I have no plans of letting you go anytime soon, not to dying or anything else.”

***

Enjolras pulls back and untangles one arm from its place around Grantaire to lift up his clock from the nightstand. It’s almost midnight; they’ve been in bed together for over three hours.

Enjolras thinks now would be a pretty good time to repay Grantaire’s compliments about his appearance, to tell Grantaire that he thinks that he is pretty gorgeous, too. There are other things that he wants to tell Grantaire as well, particularly in reference to what Grantaire had said about not being used to anyone liking him. Enjolras can’t wait to destroy that stereotype.

But when Enjolras turns back to Grantaire and opens his mouth to say this, he finds that Grantaire is fast asleep.

 _That’s okay,_ Enjolras thinks. He has all the time in the world to tell him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you yet again to my amazing beta [Carol](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com) for making this fic better and just generally being wonderful. Thanks for reading!


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